Running With Scissors
by onehellofashot
Summary: Knox could feel them watching her, she could hear their whispers. She was going to find out just what kind of things this house hid behind closed doors.
1. Chapter 1: Knox

Chapter One: Knox

I never thought I was anything special; I couldn't do anything but run. I kept few people in my life in order to minimize any unneeded chaos that comes with a cluttered social base. My father was a reserved man; scared of his own shadow and haunted by my mothers death. My grandparents were dreadfully enthusiastic, but thankfully located more than 1000 miles away in Texas. My brother Oz; a mirror image of myself, and my only competition in track was the person I always kept closest to me. Then there was Finn; the peanut to my butter, my crutch when I was broken, the boy I was falling in love with.

I don't know why my Dad thought Westfield was a good idea for my brother and I, it's not like it held any memories that didn't give him nightmares. I suppose he thought he was facing it, her death. Jennifer Wright - Born April 27, 1976 : Died April 16, 1994 - was days away from her eighteenth birthday before she was killed, a teen mom and track star. It's sad, isn't it? A teen mother who got the father to stick around, slowly rebuilding her reputation, but I guess nobody remembered that nothing lasts forever. Going out with a literal bang, my mom left my dad with two crying babies and a long life of regret. Few people knew about my relation to one of the Westfield victims, mostly faculty, but of course they never mentioned it; talking about the Massacre was as taboo as eating baby toes for lunch.

There's a plaque in the main lobby with my mother and fourteen other names engraved on it. I didn't look at it when I walked by, not because I was sad, but because something I couldn't explain would happen. This charge clawed at my spine, a warmth tugged at be belly like it could feel them, standing around me. Nothing seemed strange about that until the Halloween of my sophomore year; the first year my Dad let me out without him looming over me. Teetering through the streets in a too-tight, too-small, and too-trampy bumblebee costume, I was completely satisfied that _I,_ Knox Cooper, had been invited to a senior's party. The sun was going down as I approached the house, and I scurried to make it there faster, but something stopped me; a ringing in my ears. On the other side of the street, a man in a grisly costume walked in the opposite direction. It looked as though his eyes had been plucked from their sockets and there was nothing but bloody stumps at the end of his arms. I was drawn to him by both curiosity and some internal attraction that I'd never felt before, like a magnet. As I sat staring at him with the curiosity of a child, I realized that he noticed me too and for a moment he began to walk towards me, but it seemed as though he was distracted by some other impending problem.

Every Halloween after that, the same thing happened; a mere stranger on the street seemed to flick some switch in my brain. I'd learn to ignore it, not prepared to tell my Dad that I might be crazy, and played dumb instead.

...

The best feelings in the world: my legs outstretched in front of me, my arms pumping at my sides, and breath surging in and out of my lungs. I slowed to a stop on the blacktop, a sticky layer of sweat on my body and my cheeks red from the heat. Oz skidded to a stop milliseconds behind me, purposefully ramming his shoulder to mine. "I almost had you," he breathed.

"You wish."

I didn't get a response from him, instead, his eyes focused behind me and I turned around just in time to see Finn. I hated when he showed up during practice, I looked a mess and he liked to come just to spite me. "Hello, beautiful," he smiled. "You're still helping me after practice, right?"

I nodded, "I'll be over after."

To my dismay, he wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling my face to his. He laughed as I tried to pull away, "You look beautiful."

"Yeah, yeah."

...

The worst feelings in the world: broken bones, failing at something I'm good at, and being totally unsure of myself. Standing on the sidewalk outside of the new old house, my body felt like it was on vibrate and I couldn't bring myself to step on the grass. Movers stepped in and out of a large truck in the driveway, completely unaware and unaffected like I was. Just as I was about to bring myself to enter the house, a familiar but noticeably louder ringing set off in my right ear. I ducked noticeably away from it, looking towards the source of the noise, but it became so intense that I forced myself onto the lawn. As I stepped through the threshold though, a wall seemed to slam down within me that reduced the vibrations to a simple uneasiness.

I fell into Finn's arms upon seeing him, accepting the rush of comfort and familiarity that came with his warmth. "You okay?" he asked, attempting to make eye contact.

"Just tired," I lied. "How's it coming?"

He pushed the door to his new room open, revealing a mess of opened and unopened boxes. "_Real_ slow."

I could still feel the charge, a low buzz in the back of my brain, and both that and the massive clutter were overwhelming. Leaning over an open box, I peered down at a few trophies and metals, paired with a few blankets. "Glad to see you kept everything in order."

He slipped his arms around me from the back, planting a single kiss on my exposed neck. "I figured you could sort everything out… you're good with keeping things together."


	2. Chapter 2: Tate

Tate sat on the slanted roof of the house, planting his feet firmly to the shingles to keep from slipping. The workers mindlessly filled the house with the new family's things, blabbering on about how hard it is to be alive. The family was small, but bigger than the Harmon's; two obnoxiously in love parents and two bickering teenage boys. Tate had come out to the roof to escape the noise. He'd been begging for _something _for months, any life at all would help him to escape from the crippling silence, but now all he could hear were the movers, Vivien worrying about somebody hearing the bubbly baby, and a big, happy family.

He hadn't been listening to anything in particular until he heard the rattling engine of an old blue jeep slow down and come to a halt in front of the house. The girl who advanced on the house wasn't closely related to the family, her blonde hair and blue eyes stood out from the families brown. He took a step off of the roof, appearing next to her to get a better look, taken aback by how familiar she was. Her eyebrows were knitted together and her eyes gazed at the house as though its secrets were layer right in front of her. He leaned towards her, fascinated, but she seemed to notice; flashing a bewildered look in his direction. For a moment, he questioned his visibility, sure he'd been practically nonexistent for the past 7 months. Frozen, he watched as she stumbled into the house, compelled to follow her.

She was tall and toned, but dressed in old black boots and an old flannel shirt. The scent of lilacs trailed behind her, it was different compared to Violet; usually smelling like sweet honey and vanilla. _So familiar._ He went through the possibilities; could she have visited the house before? She unknowingly led him to his old bedroom, the new bedroom to the eldest of the brothers. They quickly grew close, obviously a couple, and bile stacked up in Tate's throat. The scene in front of him retrieved his buried craving for Violet, and he imagined her standing in front of him, her head tucked into his chest as the picture before him.

He was brought from his thoughts at the site of the girl, looking directly at him again, her eyes burning a hole into his head. She looked unsure of herself, and a familiar scowl formed on her lips. "How was practice?" he asked.

"I ran a couple of hundreds," she smiled, still looking in his direction. "Coach Freeman says that I should break a few more school records at this point." Suddenly, Tate was overwhelmed by the realization of where he had seen her… or someone just like her. It hit him like a train, knocking him back a few steps back; his mind clouded with old memories of long summer days on the black top behind Westfield, girls and boys sprinting to the finish line, his teammates desperate for the approval of a gruff Coach Freeman. And then there was a girl with blonde hair and blue eyes, one of the biggest competitors on the team. A more distant memory emerged then, the memory of himself pointing a heavy gun at her chest. _Boom. _His cheeks caught fire, the nervous bile moving farther up his throat. _Is that even possible?_

_Violet with never forgive me now. _


	3. Chapter 3: Violet

Violet peeked into her old room, emptied for dinner, and set her book down on the dresser by the door. It was weird, seeing her things replaced once again; it made her stomach churn. _Lose your life, lose your shit._ She had stashed a few of her things under a loose floorboard in the attic, but everything else was packed up and donated once she was gone now. Whoever was staying in the room was a surfer, and a lazy one; all the boxes remained untouched. The only progress that seemed to be made was a picture sitting on the bedside table.

She plopped down on the unmade bed, familiar irritation spawning in the pit of her stomach. Footsteps approached, dragging against floor, and Violet looked up just in time to see the lazy surfer enter his room. Even being invisible, she felt self-conscious in front of him, sitting straighter and smoothing the hair on top of her head. Dark hair, lackluster green eyes, and a little smirk stood present in the boys face. She watched, curious, as he dug through the boxes, muttering to himself. "C'mon," he breathed. "You did not fucking lose it... you did. Oh my god, you did." She smiled at him, amused at his animated monologue. He left almost as fast as he came, both his and her frustration filtering out with him. Now, curiosity lingered, and Violet began to go through the boxes. Giving a rough estimation, Violet was sure that he owned more pairs of swimming trunks than he did actual clothes.

To her surprise, he had quite a collection of books, and she grabbed a few to borrow. The picture on his nightstand was of an unfamiliar girl, sprawled out on a surf board, her pale skin contrasting with the blue water and her the curl of her lips making wrinkles around her eyes. Draped over the frame was a worn out leather bracelet. "He's probably an asshole," she heard Tate say. Her muscles clenched and she stumbled over a few boxes, dropping a few books on the floor. He leaned forward, reaching out to help her, but even as far away as he was, she still flinched. The hurt was evident in his eyes and he dropped his arms in defeat.

"What do you want?" she said, trying her best to not let an uncomfortable face betray her. Tate was shifty, leaning from his left foot to his right and looking anywhere but her eyes.

"I... wanted to check on y-"

The irritation swelled in her gut again, and she rolled her eyes. "If I wanted to see you, I would have dragged myself down to that musty old basement of yours."

He looked hurt again, taking a step back through the door, "You can't... just..." Confusion filled his overwhelmed eyes and he ducked his head, embarrassed and unable to think of what he was going to say next. "You... I... I miss you, Violet."

She scowled, unable to think of how she was going to escape now, "Good to know." She brushed past him, the heat of his body passing through hers, and bit her tongue to keep from going back. _Just because I miss him doesn't mean I can go back._

...

Approaching the the attic, she remembered the stack of books she'd dropped. "Fuck," she muttered, turning to look down the hallway. A great debate took place within her head, and for more than a few minutes, she stood waiting for Tate to emerge. Finally, she tiptoed to the empty room, assuming Tate had done that weird little disappearing trick he was so good at. She wrapped her fingers around the worn books, taking one last look at the room. The picture in the frame had disappeared, along with the bracelet, and she assumed that had been what the boy had been looking for earlier. She shuffled away, vowing to leave this one alone, allowing the black hole in her belly devour another little piece of her as she took a deeper step into loneliness.


	4. Chapter 4: Knox

I couldn't seem to keep away from the house, not because of Finn or his family, not because I was unhappy at home, but because it had a hold on me. A week before, I woke up with splinters of wood jammed under my bloody fingernails from trying to claw my way out of my room. I woke up with other afflictions as well, bruises around my neck and on my arms or scratches on my face. Finn didn't even seem to notice though as he was undoubtedly excited how often I wanted to come over. I used this to my advantage, sneaking over at night, laying in his arms, allowing the unintelligible whispers to lull me to sleep.

"Where does your Dad think you are?" Finn asked one morning, watching me from across the room.

"Morning practice," I replied, pulling on a sock.

He kneeled in front of me, a smile on his face, "I've got to show up to breakfast or my mom will shit herself; you'll be okay?"

"I think I'll make it," I said, accepting a kiss on my cheek.

He shut the door quietly behind himself, leaving me to finish getting dressed. I examined the room for a moment as the buzzing in her brain intensified. Little voices in the air whispered around me, _Get out. Get out. Get OUT!_ I jumped, expecting to see Finn's mother standing behind me, but the room was empty. _Leave. Leave this house. NOW! Suddenly, _the room was still. "I won't," I said, unable to hide the uncertainty in my voice. Books flew off the shelf and the air shifted as violent screeches filled the room. I tried to blink it away, clasping my head in my hands. "Get away from me! GO AWAY!" A final screech passed through the room and I fell to my knees.

I collected the books and stacked them back on the shelves, quickly tidying the room and quietly hurrying down the stairs. It was a long run to my jeep, and I was ready to stretch out my legs, but a voice called out to me before I could take off. A boy approached, grasping something with a tight fist. He was blonde, with flushed cheeks and eyes that seemed like black holes. "You dropped this," he said, holding his hand out towards me.

The high pitched squeal, surrounded me as I got closer, reaching out to accept the object as if I was hypnotized. "No," I sighed, inspecting the worn leather bracelet. "This isn't mine."

I gritted my teeth, forcing the audacious noise to the back of my head, and he took the bracelet back. "Sorry." He seemed to almost growl at me, as if my presence was irritating, and I began to step away.

"Sorry, I've got to be going."

"Yeah, me too."

...

Leaving the house behind, I thought about the boy, how I heard that same sound from Halloween. _Probably the house._ The smarter part of me knew that wasn't true, but it was the only rationalization that I could come up with. I dismissed the subject, hoping I could try to focus on my studies today, but the very sight of the school put a bitter taste in my mouth, and I seriously considered staying home for the day. I shook the thought from my head, more aggravated by the thought of my father than school.

Time seemed to be chained to a piece of lead and I just couldn't sit still. Only Oz seemed to notice at all, harassing me throughout the day. "What? You're worried Dad is going to catch you sneaking out?" "Ha! You think I didn't know?" "He might as well be on drugs, Knox, you don't have to worry." "Chill out." "Calm down." "It'll be... worry... fine... later..." His words seemed to mesh together, I couldn't recall most of what he said if you paid me.

He left me at my locker, sluggishly digging through my binder, when an unseen force knocked my things to the ground. Irritation clouded my vision, and I looked up to see the 'force' walking away; Anne Clarence, resident bitch at Westfield high. Usually, I would have rolled my eyes, bent down to pick up my things, and moved on with my day, but today wasn't usual at all. Instead, my knees locked, and my mouth opened, unloading words that surprised anybody in hearing distance. "Hey," I shouted after her. "If you're going to have a fat ass, _please_ keep it in line, you stupid cow." Voices in my head seemed to encourage me, and it felt as though a million faces were smiling in my head. Anne could move fast though, arriving inches away from my face in seconds.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I must have heard you wrong."

I rolled my eyes, fed up with these girls and their practically non-existed (and completely unimportant) reputations. The surrounding group of people seemed to migrate towards the conversation, pleased that they would have a first-hand story to tell. "I told you to keep your fat ass _out _of my way," I spat. More cheers erupted from within.

I wasn't shocked or scared when I was being thrown to the ground, I didn't even feel it. Phones were out and focused on us, fueling my fury. I threw my strong leg toward her knee. A yelp escaped from her lips as she fell in the opposite direction. "You bitch!" she screeched, crawling on top of me. Her hand slid up my neck and into my hair, latching onto a good handful of it. "Say what you need to say now before I _end_ you." The next word (or sound, if you prefer) that came from my mouth brought both cheers and gasps from the crowd. I was known for being the sweet girl, the quiet girl; both totally docile and calm. She leaned her right cheek against my left, her hot breath right in my ear, "Go on, say it."

I cracked a smile and let a low _Mooooooo _from my throat, sending Anne into a total fit, her knuckle cracking down across my cheek. This time I felt it, the sting lifting tears to my eye, but it was too late to worry about the pain now.

I remember hearing a growl... it came from me, and I remember grabbing her head and pulling it to mine. I remember every last bit of it, the taste of blood filling mouth as I bit down on her ear, the shrill scream echoing throughout the corridor, even the tears that dropped from my face to hers, but what I remember the most was the feeling of being shoved into a small corner in my brain; the feeling of somebody else's pleasure seeping into my stomach.

I suppose seeing a classmate lose a body part was finally enough for the students to do something, a bulky male latching onto my shoulders and ripping me away from Anne. If this had been Anne and anybody else, nobody would be shocked, or even bothered for that matter, but it wasn't Anne and anybody else. It was me. I ripped from the boys grip, and spit on her ball of a figure, coolly walking away.

...

Inspecting the damage in the mirror, it seemed that only a tiny cut had been inflicted on my cheek. I felt like I was inflating with pride, and the bigger the pride got, the less room I had in my corner, but I soon felt myself growing bigger. The aches finally presented themselves, a low groan ringing out from lips, but what else was to be expected? I rinsed the blood from myself, bile rising in my throat, and stood for a moment, praying that I wouldn't throw up. Obviously God wasn't really listening as I whipped around in the stall, an unholy amount of black sludge exploding from my throat.


	5. Chapter 5: Tate

Tate paced in the basement, awaiting the arrival of his mother. It wasn't going to be a happy reunion; Tate hadn't shown himself to Constance since the birth of Violet's brothers. His teeth gritted at the sound of her kitten-heels clacking down the stairs, and he was shocked at her appearance. A curl had fallen loose from her up-do and brushed up against her ear, she was tense, and it appeared that a small tear had been made on the seam of her dress. "What is it, darling?"

"There's a problem with the new family."

"Well, spit it out!" she said, exasperated.

Tate scowled. "The boy's girlfriend, the older one, she knows something."

"Who?"

"You haven't met them yet?"

"I've been busy."

He crossed his arms across his chest, "With what?"

A smug smile gripped her lips, "My boy, Michael."

Tate looked her up and down, "He must be a handful."

She assessed herself, noticing the disheveled look she was sporting and her cheeks grew red, "He's my _pride _and _joy_; the smartest little boy I've ever seen." Constance was no longer looking at Tate, but at something unseen to him. "Perfection."

"I'm sure."

"What is the problem, Tate?"

"You need to call up that psychic of yours -"

"Oh, no, not possible. I don't speak to _her _anymore."

Tate rolled his eyes, frustration tickling at his fingertips. "The girl… she knows what I did. I thought I killed her, but she's alive."

Constance threw a livid hand across his face, "Another one?"

He held his cheek, hurt, and panicking. He didn't want her to yell at him or hit him, he didn't even do anything. "No! A girl from school."

"That's impossible."

"Is it?"

Constance pursed her lips, heading for the stairs once again, "You find out what you can about this _girl_, and I'll try to talk to Billie Dean." Pausing halfway up, she looked back at her son, "What's her name?"

Memories of old track meets buzzed through his brain, pictures of her running on a blacktop, the red stain spreading through the white fabric on her shirt. "Jennifer."

Constance recognized the name too, Tate could see it in her eyes, but she left without saying anything else; off to tend to her perfection.

* * *

><p>Tate waited in the sweltering heat, day and night, until she would show up, but it wasn't for two weeks until she did. He jumped up, positioning himself as if to look like he was walking somewhere on purpose, she stopped at the sight of him, squinting her eyes. "Hey," he smiled.<p>

"Hi," she said, remaining where she stood.

"Fancy meeting you here."

"Likewise."

She seemed irritable, ready to pounce on anything that moved too quick, and he took a few slow steps toward her. "You're Jennifer?"

She scowled, "What?"

"Your name is Jennifer, right?"

Her body seemed to be leaking suspicion, "Wrong generation, pal."

Now it was Tate's turn to be confused, "What?"

"I'm Knox… Jennifer was my mother."

Tate took a step back, confused. "How...?"

"I hear that my mommy and daddy loved each other _very much_, but I don't know… it could just be hearsay."

"Yeah, I get it," he said. "It's just... uh..."

"What?"

He took a step back."No, sorry, I was just... confused. I'm Tate, by the way." He extended his hand towards her, wrapping it around her slender fingers, but she pulled back quickly.

"Fuck," she muttered, looking down at her hand. "Your hands are fucking hot, you know that?"

Tate looked down at them, inspecting for any sign of abnormal heat, but they felt normal to him. "I need to go, nice meeting you." He hurried away towards the backyard, leaving her confused and irritated.

...

Tate did as he was told, recruiting the ghosts that he could to help him in his mission. Most of them were useless, more so than they were in life. Troy and Bryan could only submit a 'She's hot' - Bryan adding in a 'smells like flowers' after his brother stepped out of the room. Gladys and Maria guessed that she was in some sort of sport, wearing a wrap around her swollen ankle one day. He couldn't ask the three morons he had murdered earlier in the year, seeing as they were almost impossible to find and fled whenever he came around.

Hayden proved to be useful for something other than being a total bitch for once, admitting that she overheard the woman of the house on the phone.

"You wanna know what she said?" Hayden smirked, lifting a hand up to his face.

Tate avoided her touch, "Yes."

She didn't take the hint, moving closer, "Are you going to make me tell you?"

He shoved her away, exiting the kitchen, "Maybe Ben would have loved you if... never mind."

Her cheeks turned red and she followed after him, "What?"

"It's just... Ben probably didn't want you because you're so easy to use," he put on a faux concerned look on his face. "Look how long he's been chasing Vivien."

Furious tears filled her eyes, "That's what you think?" He shrugged, awaiting her to give him an answer. Embarrassed, she nonchalantly wiped a tear from her cheek, "The bitch has got problems."

Tate's eyebrows came together, unsure of whether he was talking about the girl or Vivien. "What kind of problems?"

"Apparently, she kicked the shit out of some girl from her school," she smirked. "It's some big shocker to everybody, she's never done anything like that before." Tate scowled, but Hayden pretended not to notice, sliding her hand over his chest as she exited the room, "Sound familiar?"

* * *

><p>Tate sat in the basement, his eyes closed, considering Hayden's words. A sound came from across the room, and his eyes flew open, searching for the source. Thaddeus tentatively made his way to him, fearing the wrath that Tate had been exhibiting in the past few months. "I don't want to play, Thad," he sighed.<p>

It was hard to describe Thaddeus's voice, but the words most often used were raspy and quiet. Charles hadn't put much work into his son's vocal cords so long ago, and now he struggled to speak in an screeching whisper. "She can see," he said.

Tate lifted his head to look into his beady eyes, "What?"

He lifted his aged hand, flexing his fingers back and forth as if he was waving, "She says hello."

"Who? Who said hello?"

"Rose."

"Rose?" Thad wasn't the brightest bulb in the box, and had never been good at expressing his feelings.

"Rose smell good."

The light turned on in Tate's head, he was talking about the girl, Knox. "What do you mean Rose?"

"Smell like rose."

_She smells like flowers,_ it made sense now. "She saw you?"

"I _never_ want Rose to see, no want Rose to scare, Rose smile."

"She wasn't scared?"

"Rose smile."


	6. Chapter 6: Constance

"I'm happy to see you've returned, Billie -"

"You told me _he _wouldn't be here," Billie Dean said, raising her eyes to the ceiling. "I don't want to be near that baby."

"He's upstairs, Billie, the sitter is a little late."

Billie took a seat, her body stiff, and reached for one of Constance's cigarettes. "What is the problem?"

"I... I was curious as to the... 'rules' of being dead," Constance said, taking a cigarette for herself.

"What do you mean?"

"Those people that... Tate went to school wi-"

"Murdered."

Constance scowled, "Where are they now?"

"It depends on whether they have crossed over."

"Where are they if they crossed over?"

Billie took a second, "Wherever that beyond is, I can't say."

"And if they haven't crossed over?"

"It's a rare phenomenon for a spirit to remain on Earth, it means that they are bound to something here, and may never be able to pass."

"What are the people in the house bound by?"

"The house itself has it's own gravity, a dark force that holds those spirits there."

"So, if one of those students was... bound... where would they be?"

"The school, or perhaps, _with_ somebody; a loved one."

Constance took a minute to take the information in, none of it really related to what Tate was talking about. _She can see me._ "What about people like you?"

"You mean -" The doorbell cut her off, and Constance went to fetch Michael, handing the baby to a tiny Mexican woman.

"He's in a good mood today, perhaps you could take him to the park," she smiled. The girl nodded and began to walk off, but stopped when Constance continued to speak, "Be sure to keep away from _your _neighborhood, we wouldn't want any trouble now." Giving Michael a final pinch on the cheek, she shut the door. Billie awaited her in the same spot she had left her, a look of irritation present in her face. "Go on," Constance nodded.

"Mediums, we can reach into the spiritual world, and take or give as we see fit."

"Could you... see a ghost that was hiding?"

"We can't, no, but we can feel their presence, even hear them depending on how powerful we are."

"Could you tell if somebody else is a medium?"

"It depends, I never have before, but I guess I would have to meet them."

Constance sighed, sure that she wouldn't be able to pull that off and stood, "Would you be willing to come talk with Tate, perhaps we will see her then?"

Billie Dean didn't flinch, nor feign any interest at all in the matter, she just looked ready to leave, "Perhaps another time."

"Too busy with you're pilot? How's that coming by the way?"

Billie frowned, knowing that Constance was completely aware of her show being canceled, "I should go."

"Yes, I think that's a good idea."

* * *

><p>Constance walked back to her house after a 'meeting' with Travis, a cheery aura about her. It had started as a mission to find Tate, but he was obviously angry with her, refusing to show his face for whatever reason. Just as she reached the front door, she heard the babysitter, Lupita, calling after her. Her appearance was ghastly, blood running down her shirt from her face. Panicking, Constance searched for Michael, relieved to see him sitting, content, on a stained rug in the living room. "What have you done?" she screeched, pulling the boy into her protective arms.<p>

"Ms. Langdon!" Lupita breathed. "He... he attacked me!"

"I told you to stay out of your neighborhood, you put my boy in danger!"

"No, Michael... he -"

Constance understood, looking from him to her, but felt no need to make that apparent. "I'm afraid that if you can't follow the rules, I'm going to have to replace you."

The girl stepped back, shocked, tears flooding her eyes, "You don't understand."

Constance wasn't listening, she was already pushing her towards the door. This was the fourth babysitter so far, and they all reported that Michael had done something that was impossible for somebody of his age or size. Cleaning the giggly boy in the tub, she smiled, "I told you, honey, we have to be good." He laughed, screeching gibberish in delight. "Be good, Michael."


	7. Chapter 7: Knox

A darkness had been growing inside of me from the the day I was born, and perhaps instances like my mothers death furthered my condition, but it wasn't until my confrontation with Anne that it became a problem that was totally unavoidable. Charges weren't pressed, Anne's lawyer fearing a loss of the case because she was the one who attacked me. My father chided me in front of the principal and forced me ride home with him, but once were sitting in our own living room, his concern was rather lack-luster.

"What's gotten into you?"

I felt myself shrinking into that place of my mind, that familiar presence growing inside me. "I don't know, Daddy, what, or should I say _who_, have you been getting into lately?"

His eyes widened and what little color was in his face drained before he could find the words to reply. "What are you talking about?"

I rolled my eyes and the voices from within my brain grew louder. _Stupid corpse of a man. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._ "Don't you ever get sick of being alone?"

"We are _not _talking about me right now."

"Why not?" I barked. "Let's talk about you for once. Are you afraid to bring someone home? Afraid that you'll wake them up with your screams?" Why I continued to talk was beyond me, but the words flew from my mouth, smacking my father across the face. "Is it because you still picture it, think about it? Her body falling from your arms and to the floor. Did you watch the life die in her eyes? Watch the blood fall from her wound?"

"Stop it!" he shouted, tears coming to his eyes.

"Did she say your name? Cry it out in the pain that _you _couldn't stop? You should have taken that bullet, you know, why didn't you protect her? You saw him point that gun at her chest and you didn't do ANYTHING, did you?" He had retracted back into his shell, sunk into the couch, and snorting, I walked past him.

By the time I reached my room, I was myself again, and I sunk to the floor.Guilt pulsed through my veins, and I found myself in a messy heap on the floor, tear tracks staining my face. I don't know how long I laid there, worrying, wondering, until Ozzy entered. A hoarse squeak sounded from my throat as he wrapped his arms around me and lifted me onto the bed. "Hey," he smiled weakly.

"I killed him," I croaked.

He pulled the covers over me, brushing the hair from my face and handing me a couple of Advil. "You didn't do him much good," he sighed.

"You should have heard what I said," I moaned. "I am the literal devil."

"I know what you said, he told me."

I sat up quickly, my head spinning, "He... told you?"

"I know," he laughed. "It's weird talking to him."

"He hates me."

"He's making pancakes."

"What?"

"I know, he's cooking too."

That was the biggest shock, Oz and I had been living off of fast food and meals at friend's houses for years.

Eating as a family was strange, comforting, one of the few times that I didn't feel that presence in my brain. I made the necessary apologies to my father, embarrassed and ashamed that I two blowups in one day, but he wouldn't hear it, making a vow to change himself before he expected anything from us. It was a slow change, his old habits hard to break. We never really saw each other unless it was dinnertime, but it seemed to work for our awkward little family unit.

* * *

><p>After facing my family, I finally decided that it was time to face Finn and give him some sort of explanation as to why I was acting like a crazy person. Of course, now that my father was trying a new outlook on life, he made me wait until my two week suspension was finally over before I could see him. Understandable, yes, but annoying and poorly timed.<p>

I nervously pulled up to the house, taking a deep breath before pulling the key out of the ignition. As I approached the house, I noticed that I couldn't feel the vibrations; it seemed like any other house on the block. I was either getting used to it, or it was just going away. I did notice a muted ringing, coming from the side of the house, and just as I turned to look, a boy walked out. He was the one I talked to that last day at school. He looked at me like we were old pals, raising a hand and smiling, "Hi."

His presence gave me an uneasy feeling, nauseous, and I couldn't tell why, "Hey."

He seemed to have a purpose for being here, like he was waiting for me. "You're Jennifer?"

I could feel the scowl on my face, almost shocked that somebody actually had the balls to say my mother's name in front of me. "What?"

He repeated himself, using the same forbidden name, and I took a step back. "Wrong generation, pal." It couldn't be a coincidence, could it? He couldn't really be mistaking me for some random Jennifer on the street. "I'm Knox, Jennifer was my mother."

He took the step back this time, frustrated confusion growing in his eyes, but he seemed generally relieved that my name wasn't Jennifer. "I'm Tate, by the way."

Reaching for his hand, I smiled at the normality under such strange conversation, but as our hands made contact, searing pain shot through the nerve endings in my fingertips. Did he just get back from a trip to the sun, or what? "Your hands are fucking hot, you know that?"

He inspected his left hand, but he didn't seem to notice anything was wrong. _Tate_. It sounded so familiar, like a name I should remember.

...

Finn's mother, Lucille, opened the door to the house, accepting me into a forgiving hug. Sitting me down on the bench near the door, she ran her fingers through my hair, letting me sob into her shoulder. Lucille might as well be my mother, I've been best friends with Finn since elementary school, and she is always picking me up when I need it. The moment I saw her face, I couldn't hold it in anymore; it was like that sympathetic smile brought back every wrong deed I'd ever done to my brain. "It's all going to be okay," she sighed. "You're going to go back tomorrow and show everybody that it was just a bad day."

I smiled up at her, "Is he mad?"

"He's been worried sick, badmouthing your father for not letting him see you, upset, but I don't think he's mad." I nodded, wiping the makeup from under my eyes. "Our neighbor came by to introduce herself and asked if he could come see what was wrong with her oven, he'll be back in a minute." The word neighbor reminded me of Tate, and I wondered if he lived near by. Shaking the thought from my head, I stood up, "I guess I'll go wait for him."

Lucille smiled, giving me a hug, and I trudged off to his room. It was messy, but it appeared that he had finished unpacking. A sticky note hung from his lamp and read '_vb tournament, call here to register_', he'd alphabetized his books, and posters were covering the newly painted walls. I straightened up his bed, laying down on the thick duvet, and taking a moment to let the strange charge of the house run through me. I felt like I could lay there forever, never have the misfortune to move again, but that was interrupted by a thump from above. It sounded as though Lucille was in the attic. The door opened and I looked over to see Finn standing in the doorway, nervous, "Hey."

I stood up, "Hey, stranger."

Both of us were at a loss for words, sort of evaluating each other instead of speaking. Finally, he took a few steps toward me, wrapping his arms around my waste. "I missed you."

_I missed me too,_ I thought. It seemed that this is the first time I had felt at peace in weeks. "I'm sorry."

He frowned, not telling me why or giving me any hint that I was forgiven, to my dismay. Instead, he kissed my forehead, and sat me down on the bed. "You could've warned me," he smiled.

_I didn't even warn myself,_ I thought, feigning a smile at his joke.

He wrapped his arms around my waist and buried his face in the crook of my neck, taking in a deep breath before saying anything else. "What happened?"

My stomach dipped and I bit my lip to prevent myself from saying anything that would make me sound like a psychopath. "I'll let you know when I find out?"

He brought his eyes to mine, and I could see that he understood. "I'll be right back?" he said, swiftly exiting the room with an excited smile.

I laid back on his pillows, pressing my face deep into the fabric and inhaling the scent of his shampoo. I didn't realize how much I missed him. To my right, an empty picture frame sat on his nightstand. I took it into my hands, running my hand over the cracked glass that would sit in a picture if it had one.

"Why don't you put a picture in that?" I asked as he reentered the room, a small object in his hands.

He rolled his eyes, "I did. It was a picture of you, the first day I took you to the beach. I think the freak stole it."

Finn _so graciously_ refers to his younger brother, Adam, as the freak. "Don't call him that," I laughed. I was actually rather fond of him and his schoolboy crush on me, but the two brothers seemed to have it out for each other.

He shook his head, "I was going to give this to you a while ago, but it disappeared in the moving stuff." He opened his hand to reveal a worn leather bracelet, "It was just sitting in the kitchen though, so I guess my mom found it." I smiled, excited, but my eyes widened upon further examination. It was the bracelet Tate had _found_, wasn't it? A fish was burned into the leather, and it was the color of mars… identical to the one Tate had showed me.Finn didn't seem to notice my inner conflict, wrapping the bracelet around my wrist with a look of satisfaction. "Do you like it?" he asked, looking up expectantly at me.

The impulsive side of my brain took over, wanting to tell him all about the strange boy outside of his house, but I couldn't. Instead, I felt a familiar presence grow within me, but it wasn't angry like it usually was. Something other than myself raised my hand to the back of his neck and gruffly pulled his face to mine. In his surprise, he pulled away for only a moment, but I was unrelenting, pulling him onto the bed beside me.

My hands fumbled with his belt buckle and though the confusion still stared back at me from his eyes, I knew he wasn't going to say no. I knew what he wanted and whatever was inside me was willing to give it to him. That was it; goodbye virginity, goodbye final moments of sanity, goodbye anything that made sense.

* * *

><p>It was sweet, a good 'first time' experience, I think. I wanted to do it again, over and over. I wanted that moment of peace and perfection to live forever, just me and him; no family, no school, no crazy. I wanted to never leave his bed, I never wanted him to stop leaving those trails of kisses up and down my chest, but it eventually did stop. I sat up, pulling my knees to my chest, concerned that Lucille heard something, but Finn had promised that she was working on the garden outside. He had already dressed himself, and sat next to me, kissing my exposed shoulder. "You okay?"<p>

"I'm great," I smiled. As I got dressed, I noticed a red ring around my wrist as if my new bracelet had rubbed it raw. I quickly pulled on my shirt before Finn noticed, walking towards the door. "Can we please go see what your mom is doing? I'm freaking out."

He nodded, taking my hand and pulling me down the stairs. As promised, Lucille was sweating over a bed of flowers. "Could you two do me a favor?" she panted. "I need a glass of water and she shears, they're in the basement." I quickly volunteered to get the sheers, curiosity tingling in my fingertips.

It was creepy, even with the lights on, but the sheers took only seconds to find. I lingered for a few moments, looking for _something_, anything that held any sort of explanation about the house. It was basically empty, a few pieces of outdated furniture and old crates, and I approached an old table. It was a truly beautiful piece of work, probably left behind by the last family.

Suddenly, a ringing hit me like a bus and I looked to the doorway, seeing nothing. _Ghosts_. The conclusion had come to my mind before, so when I looked at that empty space by the stairs, I tried to imagine what sort of spirit was standing before me. I focused for a moment on the ringing that seemed to engulf me; I had never noticed before, but it was then that I realized that I could hear voices too. Several quiet voices chanting different things. I don't know what pushed me to do this, something inside me, but I smiled and waved. If this was a ghost, it was an innocent soul, putting off a kind energy. I even felt bad leaving it behind, not taking my eyes off that spot as I left the basement.


	8. Chapter 8: Violet

Violet sat perched on Beau's bed, rolling his red ball around in her hands. There was a comfortable silence between the two in the forgiving darkness. They sat like this a lot, sometimes they played, but both just seemed to like the company. Looking into the corner, she saw Tate, watching them for who knows how long. "What do you want?" she scowled. Beau was clearly excited, but sat still, scared of how the two would react to each other.

"I was here first," he stated, crossing his arms across his chest with a smug grin. "Seventeen years ago, this house became mine forever. Seniority states that I can go _wherever _I damn well please."

Violet was taken aback, annoyed that Tate was no longer kissing up to her. She wouldn't admit it aloud, but she wanted him to chase after her… he deserved it. She wanted him to want her, and she wanted to never ever give herself to him; to spite him. "Then I'll just go somewhere else," she said, standing up. Beau whined from his spot on the bed, not wanting to be left alone.

"I thought you were stronger than that," Tate scowled.

"Pardon me if I don't want to be in the same room as a murdering rapist who just happened to rape_ and_ murdermy mother."

He didn't seem shocked by her outburst, probably used to being the bad guy now. "Face it, baby, you're here forever now." He was acting so strange, so confident in himself, so... done with apologizing. "So am I."

"What do you want, Tate?"

"I'm bored, I wanted to see if _my _brother wanted to play."

Beau sat up straight, excited, "Play?"

"You see?" Tate smiled. "_He_ wants me here."

Violet's cheeks turned red and bells and whistles went off in her brain, "Well, I don't."

Tate looked exasperated, fed up, unwilling to argue, "That's too bad."

It was annoying, Tate was supposed to be doing what she said, doing anything to get her back. Why doesn't he care anymore? _Doesn't he love me?_

* * *

><p>Not one to cry, especially in front of Tate, she stomped down the stairs, throwing the door shut. In the basement, Vivien played the role of dutiful 'help' while Nora looked on peacefully. Since Nora had been given her promised child, she was easier to be around, less whiny and more snobby. "Vivien," she said. "I think you can talk later, when you're off duty."<p>

"Nora," Vivien responded, smiling down at Jeffrey. "I'm not 'the help', and if you want to take care of this baby by yourself, be my guest." Nora's eyes widened, and she slowly disappeared, well aware that she was unable to take care of the baby by herself. Turning to Violet, Vivien smiled a smile that hadn't fallen from her face in months. Her family was together again, in harmony. "Where have you been?"

"The attic."

"You look upset."

"I can't even go in my own room without having to watch a bunch of strangers fucking." She'd heard them as she passed, driving her even farther into an irritated state.

"Violet," her mother scolded. "We agreed. Until you're eighteen, you follow the rules. That means no cursing, especially in front of the baby."

She rolled her eyes, "Mom, you're going to spend the rest of your... life caring for this kid."

"Your brother," she corrected. Violet didn't refer to her brother as anything but 'the kid', and didn't refer to Michael at all. It was just too wrong and fucked up and weird. "What's wrong with that?"

"We have all of eternity to do what we want, and you have this baby that will never be able to do anything."

"You'd understand if you had children," she said, not realizing her faux pas. It was an unintentional blow, a failed attempt at rationalization.

"Yeah... if."


	9. Chapter 9: Tate

November 16, 1984 - 7 Years Old

Tate sat in his backyard with tears streaming down his face, taking handfuls of grass and ripping it out of the soil as Nora rubbed his back. "I don't want to be out here," he sobbed. "Mom said I had to."

Nora knelt down next to him, stroking his hair, "It's good for little boys to get fresh air, darling."

"She told me to go away... she's mad at me." Even as a boy, Tate held a ferocious grudge against his mother, but he didn't want her to be mad at him. Nobody understood why he got so upset when he was in trouble, but he couldn't explain that horrible empty feeling that smothered him when his mother screamed at him.

"Perhaps she has a surprise for you," Nora smiled.

"Mom doesn't like surprises," he sniffed.

She stood him up, brushing the dirt of of his pants and wiping a tear from his cheek, "Now, you listen to me; I don't want you to worry about it anymore, mommies need a moment alone sometimes, you understand?"

He put a dirty hand on her cheek, "She's my mom, you're my mommy; you never need a moment."

"I have all the time in the world," she said, taking his hand from her face and holding it between how own.

"Because you're not alive?"

Nora looked to the ground, "Yes."

A loud pop came from inside the house, and she pulled the small boy to her arms. If anybody was familiar with a gunshot, it was Nora. "Tate, won't you show me how fast you can run? You've been practicing, haven't you?"

Tate had adjusted and even come to love all of the noises within the house; voices whispering dirty jokes that his mother couldn't here, a fullness about the air that made the him feel less lonely, even the scary noises were better than nothing. This wasn't one of the sounds that Tate had come to know and love, it made his stomach shake, and looking into Nora's eyes, he knew he shouldn't question it. Instead, he did was he was best at, and ran as far as he could.

* * *

><p>November 18, 1984 - 7 Years Old<p>

Tate entwined his fingers into Addy's, "Dad isn't coming back."

"Daddy isn't coming back," she repeated.

He couldn't see her, but he could feel Nora taking a seat next to him, "Everybody is going to take care of us."

"Everybody?"

"All of our friends," he smiled, sensing two others entering the room.

"The people you talk to?"

"Yes."

"Were did Daddy go?"

Constance had told Tate that Daddy didn't want his family anymore, and left, but it didn't seem right to tell Addy that. "He's become an elephant trainer in a traveling circus," he lied. Tate was a good liar, he always had been, and even though Nora told him not to lie, he could still her muted giggle.

Addy, however, was none the wiser, and took his words very seriously. "I think... I'll miss him."

"Me too."

* * *

><p>January 12, 1993 - 16 Years Old<p>

"Mr. Langdon, would you care to explain the Red Death to us?"

Tate looked up lazily from a picture he was drawing in his notebook, black circles under his eyes from a restless night. "Some speculate that it is Tuberculosis," Tate replied. "So many of Poe's loved ones died a bloody death, and it was featured in a lot of his stories, it only makes sense that he would personify it."

"And what message did you get from the 'Red Death' attending the party?"

"Those people thought they could hide in the castle, but the truth is that you can't hide from death." He leaned up against his desk, "Death will always find you no matter where you go or what you do."

The bell rang and Tate gathered his things, heading to geometry. Shuffling through the hallway, a large boy knocked his things to the ground. "Don't mind me," he called.

Things were going really slow for Tate; Nora was losing her mind, slowly forgetting everything, and crying insufferably for months. The angry voices seemed more interested in him than the kind ones, leaving him a foul mood most days. What little friends he had were tiring of his angry fits, and her mothers latest boyfriend had her convinced that he belonged in a loony bin. He was growing tired of his selfish peers, and would rather play cards with Thad than actually go out. Staring at his things on the ground, he grit his teeth together, a familiar rage rising from the tips of his toes until he couldn't see.

The boy turned to him, "What'd you say, faggot?" Before that angry person inside of Tate could retort, he was already on the ground, blood pouring from his nose. Of course, nothing was done about it though; he sat against his locker, holding the sleeve of his shirt to his nose, and nobody seemed to notice.


	10. Chapter 10: Moira

The latest men of the house were easy as ever to distract; they're minds weak and they're bodies strong, but they were boring and uniting to act on their desires. The youngest was the most entertaining to watch; his skin would get warm and his pulse would race. "Adam," Moira would say. "Do you need anything? You look absolutely parched." Poor boy, only 15, would get white as paper, and find an excuse to leave. The other boy, Finn, was dreadfully loyal to his girlfriend. Lastly, the husband, Jonathan; though he was no stranger to his own desires, was too wrapped up in his works to be concerned with a _silly _maid. Moira wasn't entirely drawn to toy with this family because of a serious lack of past infidelity, so she sauntered around purely because she could, because that's what she'd been doing since the day she died.

Leaning over the sink, Moira scrubbed away at an iron skillet. The family had gone out for dinner and weren't expected back for a few hours, so it was a surprise when she heard the kitchen door open. Constance made her way in, eyeing the pictures on the fridge. "What do you want?" Moira blinked, distaste present in her voice.

"Does this new family pay you to be so pissy or does that come free of charge?" Moira didn't answer, going back to the skillet. "I introduced myself before they left, they seem so innocent, don't they?" Moira remained silent still. "What do you know about _this girl_?" she scowled, raising a finger to a picture of Finn and his girlfriend.

"Ms. Cooper? She's a quiet young lady... very peculiar."

"Goddamit, Moira, could you please be more specific?"

"The house seems to have a special effect on the young lady, it reminds me of somebody you know."

"Now, Moira, I'm not in the mood to -"

"Your son."

Constance squinted her eyes, "What is that supposed to mean?"

Moira placed the skillet in it's designated place under the counter, "Not only can _she _hear _us_, but _we _can all see that little red monster eating away at her just like it did that little freak of yours."

This was becoming personal to Constance, "I don't know what you think you're talking about, but I suggest -"

"_I_ suggest you get with the program before funerals become a trend again."

Constance slammed the door on her way out, refusing to listen to anything more about her son. She had what she needed anyway, _she could hear them_, that's all she needed to tell Billie Dean.


	11. Chapter 11: Knox

The corridors of the old house were dark and damp, they reeked of piss, and a quiet sobbing rung throughout the halls. It was a sweet, melancholy sound that made my bones ache; the moans so peaceful and serene. I followed it, quietly opening the door to Finn's room, but it was empty, the walls unpainted. A girl who had frequented my dreams lately lay in the corner, her usual quiet demeanor interrupted with sobs. She had never cried before; instead she watched me, almost studying me. I approached her, leaning down to her level. All I wanted to do was console her, make her stop crying, but my condolences were futile. "Get out," she growled, her soft brown eyes livid. I didn't respond, didn't think I could; my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. The girl jumped from her spot, her hand wrapping around my throat and sending me into the corner. I cried out, her hands burning my neck, but it wasn't the sad girl anymore, it was myself. The fury radiated from my doppelganger, blood pouring from it's cranium, "Get out, before you lose _everything_." I tried to scream again, but my lungs wouldn't permit it; they held everything inside of me.

* * *

><p>Haven't you ever felt like you were drowning? Choking on the air in your lungs instead of water, your heart racing, your mind racing for <em>any <em>solution. It's a horrible, helpless feeling. Personally, I had never experienced it for myself until the nightmares started, waking me late at night. Finn worried about me, saying panic attacks couldn't be a _good _thing, especially at night, but he didn't understand. He never could. Anytime he would bring it up, I just gave him a little smile, and told him not to worry; kissing those sweet lips and looking as normal as I could.

* * *

><p>"You sure you'll be okay?" Finn asked, concerned eyes burning a whole in my head. I stayed with him the previous night, squeezing in every second with him before he left for a surfing tournament in Hawaii. Unfortunately, I'd woken him <em>and <em>Adam with my panicked cries, and now he had been asking the dreaded question all morning, concerned that his absence would leave me completely helpless.

"Look," I said, rolling my eyes. "I've been back at school all week and I've started running again; it's probably just stress."

Lucille and Adam stepped onto the porch, suitcases in hand and excited smiles on their faces. "You two lovebirds going to say goodbye anytime soon?" Adam asked, puckering his lips.

"And to think that _I _was going to give him a goodbye kiss," I exclaimed, puckering my lips back at him.

Lucille wrapped an arm around my shoulder, "Be good while we're gone."

Jonathan joined his wife, awkwardly holding his hand out toward me, "I'm not sure if he'll be able to survive without you, Knox."

I was hoping to say goodbye before his family settled down in the car, their eyes glued to us, as I had feared. "Good luck," I smiled, putting off that embarrassing kiss.

He didn't even acknowledge my shifty nature, pulling me into his chest, "I'll miss you."

I laughed, "Yeah, you'll miss me until you see all those girls in their bikinis."

He kissed my cheek, "I don't think so."

* * *

><p>I stuck around after they left, heading around to the backyard. I would never admit it to her, but Lucille was shit at gardening, and her garden sat in a sad heap of dirt and weeds. I'd been planning this all week, even had my Jeep stocked with the needed supplies. I'd never gardened before, but how hard can it be? Dig a hole, put a flower in it, give it some water, and enjoy the view. I set off to work, digging a plot of organized holes and throwing the colorful flowers into the ground.<p>

A voice came from behind me, "Isn't it kind of creepy that you're gardening when the family isn't home?"

Tate stood over me, his silhouette standing in front of the sun, "Isn't it kind of creepy that I keep running into you out here?"

"I'm the one who actually lives in this neighborhood."

I set the shovel on the ground, raising up to Tate's level, "Where did you really find this bracelet?"

He looked at my wrist, confused, "I found it outside."

"I think you're lying, Tate. I'd hate to think you're lying to me already."

"I swear."

The confidence in his face looked forced, fueling my doubt, "Who are you?"

"Tate," he sighed. "Are you hard of hearing or just forgetful?"

I looked him up and down, "A name doesn't make a person, does it?" He looked down instead of answering me. "Why are you always hanging around here?"

He looked up at the house, "This place just... draws me in, I guess. Why are _you _here all the time?"

"My boyfriend lives here."

"You're dating _him?_"

"I... guess, why?"

* * *

><p>That wasn't the last I'd see of Tate; in the following days, he came to accompany me as I worked on Lucille's garden. He wasn't much help, watching me from the cute little gazebo in the yard, but he did keep me company; entertaining me with jokes and stories. "Don't tell me you haven't heard of this house," he said on one particularly hot day. "You've lived in this city your entire life and you've <em>never <em>heard of this house."

"I have _never _heard of this house," I confirmed.

"Such a shame," he smiled. "It's a really good story."

I dug my fingers in the dirt, the cool moisture a relief under the sweltering sun, "You're really into stories, huh?"

He looked almost hurt by my words, "You don't want to hear it?"

"I'd love to hear your story," I smiled.

"They say this house is haunted," he started. "Lost souls wander around because they're trapped here." I didn't turn to him, but I stopped working, intrigued at the word 'trapped'. "Mysterious disappearances, freak accidents, murder... suicide; all sealing the destiny of those unfortunate enough to land on the property."

"Finn said this house had a history, but he didn't really go into detail."

He went on like I hadn't said anything, an excited look in his eye, "Some of the souls are angry and they want others to feel their pain. One family had their grandmother stay at their house while she was in town, but she ended up in a burn unit. The family found her attempting to climb into the fire place, completely silent, and her clothes and hair on fire."

"Gnarly," I sighed. "What? Is that it?"

He scowled, "Shit like that has been going down since the twenties."

"How do you know so much about it?"

"I told you," he hesitated. "This house draws me in. You don't believe me?"

"I totally believe you; couldn't doubt you if I wanted to."

He stood, approaching me, "Why?"

"I don't know... just because," a breeze set through the flowers. "It's like I can feel them, I'd be shocked if there wasn't something different about this place."

"Different... not weird?"

"Who's to say what's weird?"

I'd never met anyone like Tate; distant, mindful, lost in a world of stories. His mind seemed to wander off to another place as he sat down next to me. "Violets... why violets?"

I watched him pull one from the bucket, closely admiring it. "They're pretty, don't you think?"

He picked the petals from the delicate flower, "Pretty..."

His hand reached into the flowers again, reaching for a rose, but my hand snatched his out of the air before he could reach it. The scars on his arm were old, fading, but not completely gone. His skin was as hot as ever, but the slits across his wrist were cold, like the misery had killed that little piece of him. He yanked from my grip, pulling his sleeve farther down on his arm. "I'm sorry."

He scowled, "Why would you be sorry?"

Turning back to the garden I continued my work, "Life's shit sometimes, sorry it got bad enough that you wanted to do that."

"I stopped."

I didn't want to look at him, I felt like I had embarrassed him, embarrassed myself, but I did look at him. "Good," I smiled, handing him the rose he had been reaching for. "I wouldn't want you to be sad."

"You don't get sad?"

"I'm not a robot, of course I get sad."

"Finn makes you feel better?"

"Finn worries about me."

He nodded his head, throwing the decapitated violet into the yard, "He's protective."

"I can take care of myself."


	12. Chapter 12: Tate

Tate sauntered down the stairs to the basement, the rose Knox had given him dangling between his thumb and forefinger. She seemed so at peace with herself, but he could see that little fuse inside of her; it was so very similar to his own when he was living. Until the ghosts actually presented themselves to Addie when their father left, he'd been the only one able to sense their presence, and until Knox came around, he'd remained the only one.

"Thad," he called. "Come out here." The creature cautiously stepped out from his hiding spot in the darkness, approaching Tate carefully. Tate held the flower out to him, plopping down on a few crates behind him, "It's a rose."

He examined the item, lifting it to his pale face, "Not Rose." Thaddeus wasn't good for much, but he had the nose of a bloodhound; Tate should have anticipated his reaction.

"Rose wants you to have it," he said.

His black eyes got big, and he inched even closer to Tate, "You talk Rose."

"We're friends."

He laid a cold hand on Tate's , his crusty nails brushing against his skin, "I want friends."

"She doesn't know about _us_, Thad, she wouldn't understand."

Thaddeus hissed, retreating to his dark hiding spot, "Rose Tate's friend, no friend for Thad."

"You'll scare her," Tate sighed. "She can't meet you until she learns the truth about the house."

"Rose smile, Rose not scare."

He didn't respond to anymore of Tate's words, disappearing with the rose in his hand; that was the last time Tate would see of him for days.

* * *

><p>The house was dreadfully silent once again once the family disappeared to some distant land. Ghosts wandered around freely, 'stretching their legs' while they could, but Violet stayed remained wherever it was that she hid herself. Surprisingly, Constance hadn't been frequenting the house as expected, probably caught up with her <em>pride and joy<em>.

Tate liked to hang around his old room, secretly pretending it was still his. It was an unfamiliar sense of peace, leaning back in the cushy chair, thoughts of Violet running through his mind. He could hear footsteps outside of the door, and looked up just in time to see Hayden stride comfortably into the room. "Poor baby," she frowned. "The Queen of Darkness is still giving you the silent treatment?" Tate was growing used to this sort of banter, coming to know Hayden as an annoying little sister who occasionally put the moves on him. He ignored her, watching her go to the bookshelf and pulling out a book of nursery rhymes. "Win her over with a poem, you know? _Roses are red, Violet is dead, she's not in your bed, but she's still in your head. _It's easy."

"Shut up," he growled.

"Don't get salty," she grinned.

"Go bug somebody else, it's been a while since you've harassed Ben."

"I don't want Ben anymore," she smirked, plopping down on the bed. "I'm interested in this new boy."

"Because he already has somebody, right?"

"That crazy bitch you were so curious about? Please, taking out the trash is my _specialty._"

"Don't worry, we've already figured that out by now."

* * *

><p>Tate liked sitting with Knox, listening her try to make sense out of her own little world. She'd been at the house since early afternoon, placing heavy bricks around the edge of her masterpiece, and now the sun began to sink down in the sky. "Have you ever been in love?" she asked, stepping back to assess her work.<p>

"Yes," he simply replied.

"What happened?"

He didn't know how to respond, sure that 'I raped her mom' wasn't going to suffice. "She killed herself."

A pained glance came his way, "I'm sorry."

"I miss her."

She took a seat next to him, "Maybe you'll meet her again one day."

He shook his head, "I don't think so."

"You don't believe in stuff like that?"

He shook his head again, "She left me behind for a reason."

She took his hand in hers, "I bet she loved you a lot."

He stood up, bringing her with him, and planted a friendly kiss on her cheek, "I need to get home."

She smiled, understanding, and watched as he headed for the front yard, calling out to him just as he was about to disappear. "Tate! Do you believe in ghosts?"

"Why?"

"I think I met one."

"Oh yeah?" He left her with those two words, smirking as he imagined her frustration.


	13. Chapter 13: Violet

Ch.13 - Violet

Violet clutched a book tightly in her hands, fiery eyes looking down at the garden below. Tate had been sitting with that girl for days, taking up that innocent identity that had fooled her so long ago. She watched as he stood to go, approaching her and kissing her on the cheek. Violet knew she shouldn't be angry, but that little green monster vibrated in the back of her throat. Killing herself was supposed to take all the pain away; that hurt and sadness that she couldn't shake, but now it seemed magnified; a never ending, agony-filled forever.

Without skipping a beat, she walked mindlessly to the basement, and waited for Tate, sitting in the corner. He appeared at the top of the stairs, not noticing the girl in the dark, and called out to Thaddeus. They spoke of somebody named Rose, but before the conversation gave Violet any answers, Thaddeus was walking away, disappointed.

Violet stepped out from her hiding spot, looking almost lost as she walked towards Tate, her footsteps attracting his attention. "Violet?" She didn't know what to do or say, she just kept walking to him, forgetting everything that happened. She was still alive, blissfully ignorant to Tate's ways, and she folded into the faux light within him. He accepted her into his arms, his fingertips squeezing at her skin, "Violet, is e-"

She lifted her hands to the back of his head, pulling his face to her; craving that heat. He didn't try to stop her, instead, holding her as tight as she did. They stayed like that, holding each other, but Tate pushed her away. "I missed you _so _much, Violet.

"Do you love me, Tate?" He looked as if she asked what color the sky was, fearing that he was dreaming or that she was trying to trick him. So, she asked again, "Do you love me?" He nodded, his dark eyes wide and helpless, and he clung to her shirt sleeves, fearful that she would turn to dust and disappear forever. She leaned into him, "I want you to show me that you love me." Again, he looked confused, but she brushed her lips against his and he understood. He took her hands in his, and took a step in the opposite direction, pulling her with him, and when she opened her eyes, they stood in their old bedroom.

Violet could tell that it was different from the last time; her movements were violent and angry, Tate could feel it too. Over and over, he would mutter her name or a weak 'I love you', but she couldn't say anything back. She didn't think Tate noticed until he pulled away from her again, his eyebrows knitted together. "Don't you love me, Violet?"

"Yeah," she said, frustrated; she didn't want questions.

"Say it, Violet."

"Say what?" He didn't reply to her question, but hung his head instead. "What, Tate?"

"I'm never going to make you happy." It wasn't a question or hypothesis, he stated it as a fact. "It's all shit now."

She didn't understand what his problem was, and her stomach sunk as he dressed himself to go. An empty feeling grew inside of her once again, and panicked tears flooded her eyes. "Where are you going?"

He went to leave, giving her a simple 'I love you, Violet', and quietly shut the door behind him.


	14. Chapter 14: Vivien

Ch. 14 - Vivien

Vivien sat patiently while she waited for the others to settle down, Ben resting his hand on her shoulder. The ghosts decided that the best time to plan was now, while the family was away. Charles sat in a daze in the corner, Nora looking irrated with his presence, but rejoicing in the Jeffrey's bubbly mood. Vivien watched them, always on edge when she wasn't holding him. Violet sat by the window, the usual grimace on her face, and didn't appear to be listening. Both Elizabeth and Travis sat together, smiling and chatting about whatever it was that drove them to become friends in the recent months. Patrick was in attendance, but Chad was nowhere to be found, likely avoiding his new found enemy. Hayden, of course, had no interest in helping, and Tate avoided the Harmon family. "This family is smart, they'll know to run," Moira said when the room finally grew quiet.

"Yes," Elizabeth agreed. "I don't think it will be as difficult as before."

"Lorraine," Vivien said, trying not to stare at her smoldering skin. "I want you to get the parents, bring them here. Moira, you'll get the children."

"We need whatever is waiting for them down here to really do the job," Ben said.

"What about that shit Travis was doing the other day," Troy volunteered.

"Yeah," Bryan snickered. "One minute he's talking about the bitch next door, the next he's laying in two halves on the floor."

Travis smiled, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear, "I can make myself look like my dead body."

"Oh," Elizabeth nodded, lifting her hand into the air. "I'd love to help with that."

Bianca smiled lazily from her spot next to Dallas, "Hey, man, I can do that too." She lifted her shirt to reveal the grizzly hole in her abdomen.

Dallas laughed, and reached out to touch it, "That is so bitchin'."

Moira scowled, "I don't think that's a good idea."

"What about us?" Troy asked, "We want to break something."

"No boys," Vivien said. "We just want to scare them.

Troy stood to go, Bryan following, "If you're not going to let us break anything, we're going to go mess with Thad."

"That's all we need to do," Vivien said. "Everyone else should just stay close by, make sure the family doesn't get hurt and makes it to the door."

The door in the kitchen shut and the group turned to see Constance saunter in, an unfamiliar woman trailing behind her. "Well," she smiled, her southern drawl causing irritation to rise in Vivien's throat. "Isn't it just _so nice_ to have everybody together; like a family."

Moira stood, crossing her arms over her chest, "What do you want?"

"We need to talk to whoever is in charge here," the woman said, her grim eyes looking directly at those who were trying to hide from her.

Constance looked to both Moira and Vivien, who led the way into the kitchen. Ben followed behind them, "What is this all about?"

"Have you seen the girl who lurks around here all hours?"

Ben and Vivien avoided the family, but Moira knew who Constance was talking about, and gave Constance a small nod. "She's involved with the eldest boy, Finn."

"The house has a hold over the girl," the other woman said. "I'm afraid that her talents involving the spiritual world are allowing this house to affect her more than others."

"I'm sorry," Vivien cut in. "Who are you?"

"Billie Dean," she said, holding out her hand. "I've been working with Constance to help some of the houses residents cross over."

"Cross over?" Ben said.

"Move on," she explained. "Leave this house behind."

"Okay," Vivien said. "I'm confused. This... girl has what kind of talents?"

"People like us can look into 'the other side'; she has a sort of raw power that the house seems to have more control over than her."

"So what's the problem?"

Billie Dean looked to Constance, and Constance looked to Vivien. "Billie Dean is worried that... this is what caused Tate to... do what he did before he died."

"You mean shoot up the school," Vivien scowled. "That sounds like an excuse to me."

"Mrs. Harmon," Billie Dean said. "I just thought you should know; we don't know how powerful this girl is, and -"

"There isn't any need to worry about it," Ben growled. "The family will be gone before they get a chance to unpack."

"Mr. and Mrs. Harmon," Constance said. "I don't need your forgiveness for any of my son's offenses, but if you choose to ignore the facts like I did, you won't be able to ignore the fact that you might have been able to stop it."


	15. Chapter 15: Hayden

Ch. 15 - Hayden

**Okay, I wasn't even sure I was going to post this, but I thought I might as well. Sorry it's short, and I'm sorry for my lack of talent. Thanks for reading(:**

Hayden watched as the family pulled into the driveway, looking exhausted from the trip. She circled around to the front of the house, casually walking down the side-walk. It was a prime example of perfect timing, her game taking off the minute the boy dropped his surf board. "Need some help?" she said sweetly.

He looked over to her, almost dropping the other bag in his hands, "No, you don't have t-"

She approached him anyway, taking the board from his hands, "I'm Hayden."

"Finn."

She followed into the familiar house, feigning interest in the boring details, "How long have you been living here?"

"Two months," he sighed, dropping the bags on his bedroom floor.

She approached the surf boards he had hanging on he wall, running her hands over the shiny paint, "I'm guessing you surf?"

"In my free time," he smirked.

She plopped down on his bed, noting his immediate, uncomfortable reaction, "I just moved in a few houses away, you're the first person I've met here."

He smiled, "Oh yeah? Where from?"

"Boston."

"Are you going to Westfield?"

"No," she hesitated. "I'm home schooled."

His mother opened the door to his room, looking at the unfamiliar girl, "Sweety, your grandma is here."

Finn looked at Hayden, but she was already heading for the door, "We'll have to hang out sometime."

He smiled up at her, "Yeah, see you later."

...

Instead of leaving, Hayden went to study the other family members. Finn's younger brother stood in his mirror, flexing in his swimming trunks. She was enjoying the sight until she felt a tap on her shoulder, Vivien scowled down at her. "What?" Hayden spat.

"Stay out of the way tonight, Hayden."

Hayden rolled her eyes, "What are you talking about?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about; we need to get this family out of this house, and I don't need you standing in the way."

"Oh, well, that's a problem. You see, I'm trying to get over Ben, for your family's sake, of course, and I need this family to help me out."

"Listen, _little girl_, that's not how it's going to work, got it?"

"Listen, old bitch, there's not much else you can do, is there? You're hubby already killed me."

"That wasn't him."

"Oh yeah? He didn't take my corpse - and the corpse of his unborn child - and throw it in a shallow grave? Throw up a crude gazebo? Hm?" She brushed past Vivien, "Congrats, your husband isn't throwing a shovel at every one of his mistresses, but he's still guilty."


	16. Chapter 16: Knox

**God! I've written and rewritten this so many times, sorry it was so late! It's also really long, but I hope you like it(:**

Ch. 16 - Knox

_Hey, it's me, _Finn's voice cracked into my ear, early Sunday morning. _Baby, I don't want you to worry, please don't worry. There was... some crazy shit went down at the house last night, and we had to leave. Fuck... I don't know, I can't really explain. I'm at the hospital, everybody is fine except... uhm... they won't let me see my mom. I just wanted to tell you to... have a good day, and... I love you. Call me when you can. _

It was a sobering blow to wake up to, the sound of Finn's sleepy voice; he'd been crying. Sleep still wieghed down heavily on my body, but I rushed to find clothes, and grabbed the keys from my dresser. I left without a word and drove like a maniac to the hospital, forbodance growing in the pit of my stomach.

Upon entering the waiting room, only Ryder sat by himself in the corner, his face in his hands. I kneeled in front of him, and that usual macho man quivered where he sat. "Ryder?" I finally managed, my voice a hoarse whisper. "What happened?"

His eyes peaked at me from behind his hands, they were red and glassy, a knowing glare. "They won't let me see her," he squeaked.

My stomach dipped again, but I held it together, cupping his hands in mine. "Where's your Dad?"

"With Finn."

"Where... is Finn?"

He sniffed and leaned back in the chair, revealing the cut and bruised pattern across his skin. "He hurt his arm, they took him to wrap it or something."

I stood and took a seat next to him, resting my head on top of his, "What happened?"

"I don't know..." he said. "That maid came and got me and Finn, brought us down stairs... Dad and... Mom were already down there. This... um... this woman was begging for help. She said it was 'urgent' and that she was in trouble, but before they could do anything... I don't know. I was tired, I must've been hallucinating."

"What? What happened?"

"A guy came out and took her by the hand, and... they just... fell apart. Split in two. Bisected quicker than an angle." My eyebrows came together, what he was saying didn't make sense, but he continued. "They were still talking to us, and the more... um... the more they talked, the more their jaws... started to... I don't know: fall off. It was sick, like a nightmare, and Mom grabbed me and we ran out to the car." I wiped a tear from his cheek, but he leaned away. "They said that the police searched the house and no evidence was left behind."

"No evidence? Nobody was there?"

"We got hit by a drunk driver, some asshole semi driver... he hit the side mom and Finn were on."

I felt sick, too sick to reply, so we sat and waited. Finn eventually turned up, his arm bound in a thick blue cast. I gingerly wrapped my arms around his neck, holding my breath so not to hurt him, but he didn't respond. My face got hot and I looked at him, searching his face for some sort of answer, and the harsh emptiness told me all I needed to know. He finally pulled me back into his arms and let me cry, the harsh reality that I had lost a second mother and Finn had lost his first stinging at my skin.

...

Her funeral was brutal, so many people from her past and present gathered to mourn the loss. Johnathan held it together beautifully, peacefully standing by as the the motion spun around him. Ryder kept his head down, still too embarrased to reveal his hot tears. Finn was finally speaking again, and he shook the hands of his mothers old friends. I held onto him, more for myself than him, no tears, just a zombie-like presence. I was able to hold it together until they played the dreaded slideshow, a quiet but depressing song playing to the old memories. Each new picture and video was like being beaten with a bat, each blow bringing me closer to breaking. I'd ignored the hits until one particular picture; a picture of her, only 17 or 18, her striking green eyes piercing the camera and a blithe smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. It was the true essence of Lucille, almost perfectly catching that beauty and playfulness.

I had to put my face into my hands; I shouldn't be acting like this, I should be holding onto Finn and comforting him. _Selfish_, a little voice whispered._ Selfish little girl._ I sat back up, and entwined my fingers into Finn's. _So selfish. You think he needs this to deal with? Suck it up._

The guests moved into the lobby, but I managed to lose Finn in the crowd, staying behind for just a few minutes more. Whatever it was that lurked within me wanted to open that coffin, look at her one more time, hold her hand. The other part of me - the normal half - didn't object; every part of me wanted to see her one last time.

I wrapped my hands around the cool wood, taking a breath before attempting to lift the heavy lid, but somebody grabbed my hand. "What do you think you're doing?" Ozzy hissed. I shouldn't have been surprised that he attended, but I was, I was surprised and I was irritated. I didn't answer, yanking my hand from his grip and walking off in the other direction.

...

My days were spent trying to survive school, crying in the bathrooms, lashing out at students and teachers. My nights were spent half-heartedly sneaking over to Finn's, crawling through a window he left open for me downstairs, and slipping into his warmth under the blankets. Our relationship was so different; instead of playful jokes and just having fun together, it was just being together, a constant and desperate need for eachothers presence. He was worried about me, a quiet but disturbed look in my eye, my attempts to smile becoming less frequent. At night, he liked to lay really close, wrap his hand around my waist, wait until I pretended to sleep to let himself drift off. While he slept, I liked to watch him, brush the hair of his face, trace the muscles on his stomach, or lay my head on his chest.

I'd think about ghosts, a presance I'd recently become certain of. I'd think of Tate; such an odd boy, topping my - basically empty - list of suspected spirits. It was that constant sound I could hear when he was around, the heat of his body, the way I'd only ever met him at the house. I'd think of Lucille, talk to her sometimes. That was all I could really do most of the time, just think; I felt too worn out to do much else.

...

What little friends and family were left were getting worried about me; my moods gliding up and down faster than a rollercoaster, my appetite basically nonexistent, and my temper quick to set off. My father didn't know what to do with me, his skills in parenting seriousy lacking after 17 years of looking the other way. Ozzy was probably tired of looking after me, finding me thrashing at one of my classmates during lunch or passing periods; I rarely ever saw him. Finn tried to be there, nursing wounds from fights, walking me from class to class to make sure I wasn't getting into trouble, but that only added to my guilt. I was acting like a total nut-case, but he let me, and when I wasn't totally losing it, I would try to make amends.

One particularly long day, I'd been holding it together nicely; smiling and even finding Ozzy and telling him that I loved him and that I was sorry. I'd promised Finn I'd meet him for lunch, but stopped by the bathroom first. It was the first time I had looked in the mirror in a while, and my appearance was surprising. Everything about me was pale; my skin, the sheen in my hair, and even the blue in my eyes. I splashed some cool water on my face and took a deep breath. _Your body is reacting just like your mind, everything will be okay._

I heard somebody enter and slipped into a nearby stall, not sure I could face anybody after the show I had been putting on. "Look, I get it okay? You're upset because she died, but it isn't _your mom._"

"Hasn't she known his mom since, like, elementary school?"

"Whatever. I mean, she's acting like a total whack-job."

"What's wrong with being upset?"

"Oh, please, you don't think she isn't basking in this attention? The teachers, students, _everybody_! They're just brushing it off! 'It's just a phase' my ass!" I quickly realized that they were talking about me, familiar irritation returning to my gut.

"I don't exactly think it's like that."

"Whatever. Finn will get tired of her, of this. Of all people, he's ready to move on and doesn't need that extra baggage holding him back."

"You... you want Finn." A statement, not a question.

A musical laugh, so familiar. "He's alright, I guess. That's not the point; I'm just sitting back until he finally realizes that this bitch isn't... right for him."

My lip twitched, and I held my breath, that stranger inside me pushing me into the back of my brain. My fingers flexed, as if it was adjusting to my muscles, and pictures flashed through my mind. The fights. The lashing out. Blood pouring from Anne's earlobe. The sad girl in the room, curled into a ball, the life washing away from her. A man on fire. My mother falling to the ground, blood pouring from her stomach, my father falling next to her. A boy walking away from her, like a corpse, moving onto his next victim.

I wanted that; a victim, and I busted through the stall door to get one. It was easy, like a choreographed dance, grabbing a girl from my physics class by the hair and slamming her head against the sink. I'd seen the other girl in the hall, walking at the center of a large group of snobby losers who were enjoying the peak of their life in highschool. She was frozen for a second, a bewildered look shot at the limp body on the floor. I grabbed her before she could run, my nails gripping at her throat, but she was strong too and knocked me off my feet. I pulled her down with me, and dragged her into a stall, lifting her head to the toilet. "Don't worry, sweety," I purred. "It's not like you're used to sitting over a toilet, right?" The high-pitched screech was muted by the water, her hands thrashing at the walls.

Death is a strange thing, something I've always feared, but at that moment, it felt right. She stopped fighting, and just as I was about to win, large hands grabbed me from behind and pulled me out of the stall. A school security guard, more concerned with donuts that students safety, and I was able to run while he ressesitated that stupid bitch. Glancing at the mirror, my eyes were vibrant and wild, my skin and hair glowed; I looked alive again. Whatever lived inside me didn't dissapear like usual, it hung around, and I ran to Finn. All I could do was say "I love you" and give him a kiss, and I had to leave him there.


	17. Chapter 17: Finn

Ch. 17 - Finn

She left. Left him with three words. How can you say that and leave? She wasn't in French class, didn't meet him at her locker after seventh, and was nonexistent by the time he reached the end of the day. Finn lingered by the bleachers around the track, waiting for the girls to emerge from the locker rooms. It didn't take long for the group to emerge, a robust coach following slowly behind, but Knox was nowhere in sight. Coach Freeman waved him over, taking a drink from his coke and throwing an aggravated look at the sun. "You lookin' fer that girl o' yours?" he growled.

"Um... Knox, yeah. Do you know where she went?"

"Don't pretend ya haven't heard."

"I'm afraid I haven't... sir."

"She got into a scuffle earlier today."

He was finally catching on; all of the odd looks, the huge fight that happened today that nobody could really explain... she was running. Knox was running because... she got into a fight? She'd been fighting a lot lately, why would one little 'scuffle' make her run? "Has anybody seen her?"

"I called her pap: said he hasn't seen her."

Finn dropped his chin to his chest, frustrated; why wouldn't she tell him? "What... happened?"

"Ya know I'm not allowed to talk about it with students, but somebody is in the hospital... and it ain' Cooper."

Finn shook his hand, gave him a half-hearted goodbye, and sprinted to his car. He went everywhere: a mall close to her house, an old bookstore she'd raved about once, anywhere that was significant at all to her. Lucille's grave stood alone, only flowers left over and dying where they stood. He'd hoped that she would have come here, maybe brought something, or just sat... like they do in the movies. He considered her own mothers grave, collecting dust somewhere in Texas with her grandmother.

Knox should be with him right now, letting him protect her. Even before the car crash... something had been so off with her. The fading glow in her eyes. Her bones becoming slightly more pronounced under her skin. A sad air around her. He didn't care what was wrong with her, all that was important was that she get better, and he thought time would take care of it, but now she was gone. Gone. With three words.

...

Finn returned to the house, defeated, and heard his father's voice coming from the study, probably on the phone with somebody from the security company. He'd become obsessed with what they saw in the house that night, but the police were adamant that the alarm system had not been set off, and there was no sign of forced entry. No sign of anything.

It was too much crazy for Finn to handle, and he backtracked outside, heading to the back. The garden looked perfect; he remember her excited call about it.

_ I have a surprise for you when you get home._

_ Oh yeah?_

_ I think your mom will appreciate it a little more than you._

_ Your going to have sex with my mom?_

_ Shut up, you pervert! Jesus Christ, it's a garden._

_ What do you mean?_

_ I'm working on a garden in your backyard as we speak._

_ Good. She's been whining about it since the day we moved in._

_ Oh, be nice. I have to go. Good luck tomorrow._

_ I'll be thinking of you._

_ Good._

_ I love you._

_ Sweet dreams._

He looked down at the assorted flowers, imagining that pouty expression she put on when focused. I love you. He'd dreamed of her finally saying it. Finally giving him that little piece of her. For what? So he wouldn't be mad? She'd been keeping it to herself for so long and now he couldn't even say it back. He quickly dialed her number, holding his phone to his ear with a hopeful expression. It's Knox. Leave a message. Of course she wouldn't answer.

"Hey stranger," he heard. Hayden stood behind him, a small smirk on her face, "Avoiding me?"

"Things have been a little hectic," he squinted.

She laid a consoling hand on his shoulder, "I know. I heard. I'm so sorry."

He stood up to face her, "You didn't see anybody hanging around here, right?"

"I wasn't exactly watching."

"Oh. Right."

"Nobody knows what happened?"

"Guess not."

She took his hand in hers, standing close. The only person who ever stood that close to him was Knox... and Katie Stenton at the sixth grade formal. "I'm always here to talk, you know."

He took a casual step back, pretending to evaluate the sinking sun in front of him. "That's nice, thanks."

The hint was received on her part, and she moved closer, placing hand on the back of his neck. "Want to talk now?"

This was wrong. So wrong. He'd said more words ordering at a restaurant than he had to this girl. He just wanted Knox to be there holding him, and now somebody else was. A stranger. When she leaned in to kiss him, he closed his eyes, shooing his conscious to the back of his mind, and picturing Knox there with him. It didn't feel right. Didn't taste right. Raspberries. Too sweet. "I shouldn't be doing this," he said, apologetically. "I don't want to do something because I'm... upset."

She smiled, almost satisfied. "You don't want me to get hurt?"

"Well, no."

"You wouldn't use me?"

She looked so excited, it was freaking him out. What kind of guys was she hooking up with anyways? "No."

"That's good," she said, pecking him on the cheek. "I'll be seeing you."

...

Finn lay in his bed, looking up at the ceiling, and listening for any sound coming from downstairs. He'd left the window open every night since Knox's disappearance, but it was useless, she never showed. Ozzy was adamant that she'd been kidnapped, refusing to believe that she would just leave. Her father had reportedly returned to his shell, fearing the worst for his daughter. Her face graced missing person posters around town, students who had never spoken to her before raved about what a great person she was, and it was as though the fights and lashing out had never happened, it was like she was already dead.

He turned onto his side, reaching out to his nightstand and grabbing the worn picture that lay there. It turned up in the basement a few days ago after disappearing from it's frame, it's color fading and a wrinkled pattern dividing it in two. The little freak probably stole it; too lame to find his own girlfriend.

Sleep was pressing down on him , smothering him, he could feel his body shutting down. Pictures flashed through his mind; Knox standing on a board, Hayden climbing the stairs behind him with the same board in hand, his mother unpacking boxes. He could feel something shifting on he bed, weight transferring from side to side around him. He forced his eyes to open, unable to see past the darkness, but somebody above him.

"I'm sorry," they whispered. He could feel the stranger ly down next to him, slide their arm around his and entwine their fingers with his. He strained his neck to get a look at the intruder, and he received a familiar smile. Knox stared back at him intently searching his face for some sort of anything, and he fought against the drowsy weight in his brain to smile back.

"You left," he sighed.

His eyes began to adjust to the dark, and he was shocked by Knox's appearance. Her face was still gaunt, but a peaceful smile was present, and it seamed that the demons who had plagued her were gone. Her eyes were a lively crystal blue, and her cheeks were slightly sunburned. "I had to."

"You couldn't tell me? I would've gone with you."

She pulled his face to hers, holding his hands tightly, and gently kissed his forehead. "I couldn't let you leave your family behind."

"For a few days? They wouldn't have even known I was gone."

"I'm leaving, Finn, forever."

He sat up, his head spinning, "You are n-"

She smacked a hand over her mouth, her eyes widening. "Something is wrong with me. I can't stay here. Look what I did!"

"What? Got into a fight? Nobody cares! Everyone is freaking out about you disappearing."

"Fight? That was assault. Why would I do that?"

"Bec-"

"No. I'm losing my mind here! I can't stay." Before he could object she kissed him again, harder this time, desperate. So, she was angry, who wasn't? Losing it seemed a little far-fetched, but he understood when she let him go. She wasn't looking at him, but pulling the sleeves up on her shirt, revealing a battlefield - burns and bruises. "I don't remember these," she sobbed. "I don't know where they came from. I think I'm seeing things... hearing things. I'm scared."

"So let me help you," he frowned.

"I'm not going to let me bring you down."

He laid down, looking up at the ceiling, "You're just going to leave me?"

"I just need... some peace. Just for a little bit. I feel better... I'm almost there."

"You'll come back?"

"If you want me to."

She pulled herself close to him, putting her mouth to his ear, "Make love to me." He did. He held onto her for those last few hours, held her close. Kissed her neck. He tried so hard to stay awake, but he couldn't - something was pulling his eyelids shut. _I love you, Finn._


End file.
